


My fault

by thecrownofthereveur



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship, M/M, Minor Character Death, Numbers gets shot, Other, Wrench feels guilty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:31:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2167635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecrownofthereveur/pseuds/thecrownofthereveur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Numbers gets shot during a job, the wound isn't healing very well. Wrench feels responsible and decides to stay with him instead of escape when things get wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first fanfic written in english, spanish is my first language and i don't have a beta reader so if you find any mistake please forgive me and let me know for fix it.
> 
> I will be updating this a little slowly, it's a bit more hard for me to write in english
> 
> whatever hope you like!

There are three types of gunshot wounds, Numbers knew it; it is one of the first things you learn being in the business. Type A - they were the typical gunshots with entry and exit wounds, that ones you manage to do with an appropriate shot. Type B - they were that ones that only grazed the skin; they usually leave a cut in the skin similar at the one of a blade or knife. Type B - these occurred when the bullet was fragmented and the pieces remained inside of the wound. The current condition of Numbers was the Type C and that was a problem. Gunshots like that one were more difficult to heal. They were complicated. Remove a bullet was already an arduous job. It didn´t hit any vital organ, nor the spine (which was a good thing, the idea of a cripple assassin running away from the police was rather tragic). But more that the wound, the thing that worried Numbers was the idea of one infection: they were at miles of any safe place, besides Fargo didn't really take care like that of their _employees_. If during the job something happened, you were on your own, that included gunshot wounds, sometimes even if it meant death.

‘Shit, shit, shit’ Numbers muttered while he was trying to take off the cotton strip that he had placed over the wound last night. Now it was spotted by dried blood and remove it hurts. Numbers dropped his arms to his sides and he sat down in the bed. He growled and he tried again. It didn’t worked. He sighed in defeat looking at the ceiling.  Then the lock of the door rang with keys hitting each other. Numbers glanced at Wrench when he came in, afterwards to the plastic bag he had in his hand. When his partner saw him sit up in the bed, he rolled his eyes. _Didn’t I tell you to stay laid down?,_ he signed leaving the bag in the floor.

‘Oh, shut up’ Numbers answered in a low voice, unwilling to respond in signs. He released the cotton strip, looking pissed off. Wrench didn’t respond; even talking in sign language, he was a man of few words. Still, Numbers was able to see when his partner was angry, happy, or when he felt satisfaction, even if he didn’t say it out a loud (so to speak). For example, he pursed his eyes when he was displeased, and he curved his lips upward when their targets –the most pathetic ones – fell to their knees begging for mercy. The man only threw the bag in the bed, Numbers could see inside it a saline solution, gauzes and surgical clamps. He couldn’t avoid keep looking at them. He would have to put them into the wound, that already hurt, to remove the bullet fragments. Wrench noticed the way he was looking at the clamps, but again didn’t say a word, he only crossed his arms in front of the door.

Numbers arose from the bed with one hand in his side and he took the bag to the bathroom. Suddenly he thanked that his partner was deaf, if he began to squeal because of the pain, no one was going to hear him. Wrench stayed in the room. Soon they would have to leave the hotel and go somewhere else, it wasn’t good for persons with their job stay too long in one place. He leaned on the wall, glancing at the bathroom occasionally. He narrowed his eyes, as in a mixture of anger and restlessness.

 

*** 

 

The door opened, followed by the sound of gunfire. The men inside barely had time to turn around. 13 gunshots. 2 automatic weapons. 7 dead. None alive. Numbers and Wrench only stepped into the room when they were sure that no one was still moving. They put down the Uzis they carried, alert to any move. _This was such easy job, it even was boring, man_ Numbers sign, eyes fixed in the lifeless bodies beside his feet. Wrench shrugged, nodding in agree. They both began to check the bodies; most of them were men in suits, armed and a bit fat. Numbers normally didn’t liked to ask about the men he was supposed to kill, but with only a glance he could see what kind of persons they were. Of those who don´t live long. Of those who sooner or latter, find their destiny in not such nice ways.

Wrench find three automatic weapons and some bullets. Numbers find a semiautomatic weapon and a couple of silencers. He normally didn’t used them, he believed it wasn’t the same. Hear the sound of the shots was part of what it made the whole thing so exciting. He kept the silencers anyway, he never knew when he would need them.

When Numbers stood up to follow Wrench, who was waiting for him beside the door, an intense pain in his side made him stay crouched. He closed strongly his jaw trying not to whimper. He could feel Wrench’s glance over him and that, like an impulse, made him stand. He adjusted his sunglasses and he put his gun safe. _Let’s go_ , he sign walking towards the exit with authority, maybe in a bad mood. But Wrench did not stop looking at him, eyes frowned.

 

***

 

Numbers was taking a cold shower; the water, almost clarifying, refreshed him, dozed him, took away the fatigue. The Motel in which they have ended up wasn´t a fancy place at all, any persons who decided to stay there, the did it for not pass a one night in the back seat of their car, hiding in a dark place of the road. A cold shower and a uncomfortable bed was better than that.

When one of Number’s hands reached to his side he tried to wash the wound carefully, without touch it too much, but only the water caused him a strange sensation. He turned off the faucet of the shower and took a towel. When he came out of the shower he looked his wound in the mirror. It had turned red and inside it had appeared a dark scrap. Numbers looked to the bathroom mirror looking for something for treat the wound. On the top was a bottle of isopropyl alcohol. It wasn’t goo to use it in deep wounds, he knew it very well, but something in the way the gunshot was healing was making him nervous. Numbers spill the liquid in his hand, one scrape in his thumb stung. Some drops fell into the wound. It itched. Numbers muttered something and, again, he spill the alcohol in his hand. He ran his hand over the dark scrap a couple of times before it started to burn.

He had to clench his teeth for not curse.

Numbers let the bottle in the place he found it and he looked the wound in the mirror again. Suddenly he had the slight fear of not have removed all the bullet pieces, but when he tried to grope for them in the live flesh a shriek scape from him. He stood up and he dressed.  He only had to give time to the wound for heal. That and find a prescription for painkillers, he didn’t needed anything more.

When he came out of the bathroom, drying his hair and beard with a towel, the first sight that greeted him was sitting in the armchair of the room, watching TV. In some news channels, normally in the public TV, there was a translator (in the lower corner of the screen) of ASL. When there wasn’t any channel alike Wrench had to settle with read the lips of the presenters. He normally got tired after a while and he turned off the tv in a bad mood. Anyway, tonight there was a happy grin on his face. He looked at Numbers and he pointed to the TV, _they are talking about our job of this afternoon_ , he sign almost excited.

Numbers looked towards the TV. The host was talking about the six bodies that the police had found a couple of hours ago in the house of a lawyer who, apparently, was drug-related. Numbers smirk, the police didn’t have any idea. But then something called his attention from the report.

‘Wait, did she said s _ix?’_ he asked, although he knew Wrench couldn’t hear him or read his lips if he was turned back. Then the camera caught a stretcher coming down from an ambulance and entering to the hospital.

“This man who was found alive in the crime scene is being transferred to a hospital. The police is waiting for talk to him…”

_Are you fucking kidding?_ Numbers sign waking towards the armchair. The smile in Wrench face faded immediately. _You said you checked every one of them, why there is one alive?_

_I don’t know_ , Wrench responded standing from the couch, _why didn’t you checked them yourself?_

_Because you were supposed to do that!,_ Numbers sign pointing at Wrench accusingly. Then he drop his arms and he glanced again to the TV where the host was still talking. _Look, we’ll take care of that later,_ Numbers sign passing a hand through his beard and looking at the only bed in the room. Wrench and him had raffled it that evening. Suddenly he felt very glad to have won. He could felt the expression of his friend behind him, that one with the eyebrows and the lips frowned.

_What?,_ Numbers asked shrugging.

_Are you okay?_ Wrench responded, still holding the expression. _You look pale_ , he sign. Numbers asked himself if his friend was truly concerned or if he just wanted to talk about something more than his failed work; but thinking about it, the first option was more probably. Anger and the memory of a shot in his side made Numbers frown. _Yes, I’m fine_ , he sign letting himself rest in the bed.

‘Stop asking’ he murmured against the pillow.

Wrench keep looking at him from the couch. He turn off the light and took the mattress cover that Numbers have given to him. But he couldn´t stop thinking about the shots of the last week in the parking and in Numbers gunshot, feeling the unpleasant sensation of blame spreading through his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

 

It was a simple job, just find the guy, pull the trigger and disappear. That was the normal procedure when they were dealing with mobsters. Wrench and Numbers were just standing in the parking, waiting for the poor bastard – a skinny guy that couldn't weigh any more than a hundred and twenty ponds - to come out of the bar. After all, they didn´t have hurry. They only had to wait. And as always happened when they were waiting, Numbers seemed grumpy. He had even lit a cigarette, -smoke was one of his more old addiction, several times he had tried to quit it, but he hadn’t succeeded.-

When he exhaled the first puff of smoke, Numbers extended the cigarettes case to his friend, offering. Wrench looked at him with fixed eyes, lips frowned.

‘What? You don´t like marlboros? You prefer lucky strike?’ he asked, putting the cigarettes case on his pocket. His voice was sounding to sarcasm and even if Wrench couldn´t really hear it, he could perceive it.

_I’m not going to smoke that shit_ , Wrench sign.

Numbers rolled his eyes, putting the cigarette in his mouth again and murmuring something. Just sometimes Wrench had problems to read his lips behind that thick beard. He fixed his eyes in the nape of his partner and he dropped his arms, leaving them on his sides. Normally that meant that he wasn´t going to talk to Numbers for a while.

Every now and then Numbers asked himself how to say moron in sign language, (he actually didn´t knew how), he had tried it just signing the letters, but in those moments he usually was angry enough to not do them correctly. How a deaf man had finished working with a handful of assassins was something that Numbers will always ask himself. It seemed like the plot of a Quentin Tarantino movie or something. At least he expected a not so tragic end, he thought, glancing at his friend who was standing next the halfway, crossing his arms.

‘Not so tragic…’ he murmured.

Numbers gave another drag to his cigarette.

He seemed abstracted.

Then, someone opened the door of the bar. Numbers and Wrench raised their heads, almost anticipating what was going to happen. Through the door went out four armed men, one of them was the skinny man they were following. Immediately they looked at Wrench and Numbers with displeased eyes.

‘Fuck’ Numbers murmured, dropping his cigarette and treading on it. They had been discovered, he thought, running towards one of the cars of the parking.

At once shots were listened. Numbers came to the back of the car, being careful to have Wrench at his side.

‘How the hell they realized that we were here?’ he screamed, pulling out his automatic and shooting back.

_How do you want me to know that?_ Wrench sign clumsily with one of his hands on his gun. His eyes were wide open.

The shooting was heard for the entire street; people were screaming and hiding themselves. Suddenly the parking was lonely. Numbers was looking from the driving mirror to the three mobsters that, without fear, were getting closer. He could see the legs of the three guys walking towards them. Pulling out his tongue and feeling the gritty touch of his beard, Numbers shout three times. Two of the mobsters fell to the ground, clutching their knees. The other one stood still, looking at them with fear in his eyes.

Wrench came out from behind the car pointing his gun at him. The man rose his hands dropping his nine millimeter gun. A shot in the head sent him to the ground. Numbers came out too, watching the other two men lying in the ground, writhing there, bleeding. Two shots in the chest and both of them fell silent.

‘I guess that´s all…’ Numbers said putting the gun in his pocket, ‘an unpleasant way to end a job.’

The cigarette case had fallen somewhere in the parking, they would have to buy another one in the next gas station. Wrench crouched for make a quick glance to the dead guys in the ground. Mobsters always have interesting things. He took from them two guns and a pair of bullet cartridges. Wrench didn’t even felt the guy approaching him from behind or preparing his gun. He couldn’t hear him.

But the shot was an impact that he could even perceive, and when he turned around for find the fourth mobster with his gun raised after shooting, pull the trigger of his own gun was the first thought in his mind. Now the man was lying in the ground beside his partners, stained in blood.

‘Shit,’ Numbers snapped ‘shit, shit’ he repeated again and again. When Wrench turned around and saw him crouched, with his hands at his sides, he knew that everything was really fucked. For the waistband of Numbers jeans a blood stain was dripping.

Then police sirens sounded in the distance.

Wrench’s world, just for a moment, moved faster.

Numbers’s world just started to spin.

Wrench grabbed his partner by the shoulders, turning to the car in which they had hidden from the shooting. He broke the car’s window and the alarm resounded in the street, but the people didn’t do anything, they were all to terrified. Wrench put his friend in the passenger seat, attempting to ask if he was okay, but he was too accelerated.  He sat in the pilot’s seat trying to start the car. It had been years since the last time he had launched one without the key. More than that, he had not driven in almost half a decade. Since they met, Numbers was always the one driving (most of all because Wrench was a terrible at it).

When Wrench started the car he almost swept away a Volvo that was parked in front of them. After that he drove up to the road the faster he could, glancing at Numbers. He was murmuring something, Wrench suspected that he was cursing. He removed one hand off the wheel trying to see how bad the wound was, if the bullet had gone through him, if it was still there, somewhere.

‘Get off me, god, put both your hands in the wheel, look straight ahead!’ Numbers screamed before he could do anything, raising his arm to the road in front of them. ‘Look straight ahead…’ he repeated more lower, as if he wanted his friend to concentrate on driving and escape, not in him sitting at his side with a shot on the ribs. ‘Look straight ahead…’

Wrench stripped of him his terrified look and he accelerated, occasionally looking at the rearview, looking for police cars chasing them. This was really fucked, he thought one more time.

The car disappeared quickly when they reached the avenue.

 

***

 

In this world, there are men that in the same moment you meet them you already trust them. Normally they are common people with common jobs and they have happy faces (even if they are not really happy) and bright smiles. You ask them the hour in the street, you chat with them in the bus stop, you trust them your children when you have to leave them alone in the mall. Those are the men that people call good persons or nice guys. The normal, average man.

Wrench wasn´t one of those. He wasn’t a nice guy or a good fella. He was an assassin. People hired him for kill their enemies, to torture them, to leave them a message. He made money of other persons suffering and he was okay with that. He didn’t felt like he was doing something wrong, it was just his job, like the job from a mailman or the job from a businessman. But maybe what made his work easier was that he felt anger. Since he could remember, he felt rage inside him and even if he was usually able to control it, it was never gone completely. That rage allowed him made many things that normal persons could not, like hurt people, hide bodies or even kill. Therefore, the moment you meet someone like Wrench that walks in the street with the eyes frowned, for some reason you can’t trust them like in other people. And maybe you are right to do so.

Right now Wrench was in a bad mood. He looked grumpy walking down the hallway towards his hotel room. Again it wasn´t an expensive place, but it was at least more decent than the one they were staying before. He was bringing supper (Chinese food) and that was bummer. Not because he had to go and buy it, but because he had to made miracles for made the waiters understand that he wanted rice with vegetables and chicken, no, no, no pork ribs, _chicken_ , my friend is jewish. It was simply annoying. But he couldn’t blame them, is not like you should have learn ASL to be a waiter. However, usually Numbers and him ate at cheap restaurants in the road and Numbers always asked for the orders. So normally he didn’t have to deal with those problems. But Numbers wasn´t feeling good tonight, or at least that’s what he had told Wrench lying in bed half sleep, so he had no choice.

Wrench pulled the key of the room from his pocket and opened the door. He was expecting to find Numbers watching tv or smoking in the balcony, but instead, he find him still spread on the bed, under the covers and looking at the ceiling. Wrench let the bag in the table beside the door and entered to the room. He was about to tell Numbers to stand up and eat because ha have fight for that chicken in the bag when he realize something wasn’t right. Numbers’s face was paler than usual and a sheen of sweat had appeared on his skin. _Are you okay?_ Was the first thing he asked, walking towards the bed, _you look horrible._

Numbers didn’t answered, he just shifted on the bed murmuring something that Wrench suspected were curses. He touched Numbers’s neck, measuring his temperature and he was surprised to find that his friend was burning in fever. When he had leave, Numbers didn’t looked sick at all, maybe a bit tired Wrench thought, but nothing that seemed important. Then a bad feeling came to Wrench, like a presentiment that made him roll Numbers in the bed and lift his shirt. The wound was still there, black, unhealed and with a disgusting sheen of white pus covering it. It was infected, Wrench realized quickly.

_How long has it been like that?_ He asked abruptly, stepping back and looking at Numbers’s red eyes.

‘During some time’ Numbers answered putting his head under the pillow. Numbers almost never talked to Wrench without sign, he seemed tired enough to not do so. Wrench looked pale. _How didn’t you tell me anything?_ he sign upset.

Numbers glanced at him, eyes frowned in pain because of the fever. ‘I don’t know, I thought that it was going to heal itself…’

_Itself? The wound gets infected and you think it’s going to heal itself?_ Wrench asked. _In what were you thinking?_

_I wasn’t thinking!_ Numbers sign sitting up in bed just for drop himself in the pillows again.

Wrench gritted his teeth. Besides the bed in the nightstand, he saw a pot of pills. He took them. They were painkillers. Numbers was in pain. In pain because of the wound. A memory of that day waiting in the parking came to Wrench, Numbers getting shot while his kneeling, enable to hear the mobster preparing his gun behind him. Guilt.

Wrench put the pills in the nightstand again, looking at Numbers worried. He had to do something. Quickly.

 

***

 

Numbers took a spoon of soup, putting it in his mouth.

‘Thank you’ he said, enable to use his hands while holding the bowl of soup.

Wrench hadn’t stop to look at him since he entered to the room. It was getting annoying. His fever was a little lower now after Wrench had washed and bandaged the wound again. Numbers have even stand up for go to the bathroom and wash his face. So now, suddenly, his cold was being replaced with a horrible, overwhelming heat. He took another spoon of soup and he put the bowl away in the nightstand for take the covers off, but Wrench didn’t let him. He tucked him again signing something about “sweat the fever”.

_Come on_ Numbers sign, grouching, _I have a lot of heat_.

_I don’t care,_ was Wrench answer. _Finish your soup_ , he added eating the chinese food he have bring in the first place.

_It’s horrible_ Numbers respond taking the soup again.

_Make your own soup then_ , Wrench sign. He was upset. Very upset, Numbers realized (and of course not for the comment of the soup). Maybe it was better for him just to finish the soup and go to sleep. With enough luck, next day in the mourning he will feel better.

Numbers didn’t finished the soup, a wave of general malaise took him before he could. He was unable to eat more so instead he preferred to turn on the TV for make noise while he was sleeping.

After a while he fall sleep.

Wrench didn’t.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Numbers sat down in the chair of the café looking tired. Wrench at the other side of the table, was looking at him with his eyes fixed. Numbers tried to ignore him, using the menu like a shield in front of his face, but it seemed useless. Let’s see, Numbers thought, there was eggs, toasts, french toast, pancakes, sandwiches, omelet, coffee, orange juice, apple juice, green tea, black tea, hot chocolate (who takes chocolate for breakfast?) and…, god, this was useless. Numbers put down the menu to look back at Wrench and he raised his arms shrugging.

‘ _What?’_ he asked.

Wrench responded pointing at him, accusingly.

‘ _It was stupid from you to hide the problem with your wound’_ he signs.

Numbers growled in frustration, hiding his face in one of his hands.

‘ _I said I was sorry, when are you going to get over it?’_ Numbers respond.

At that, Wrench just stayed still, maybe thinking in something to say. Suddenly he put a hand in the table, angry.

‘ _I’m not going to get over it, you…’_

But then a woman pass with their children beside them and even if they couldn’t really understand them, both Number and Wrench stayed quiet for a brief moment. Numbers sighed, playing with the sail in the table. Wrench stopped looking at him.

 _‘How is the fever?’_ Wrench asked suddenly.

‘ _I walked over to here, didn’t I?_ ’ Numbers respond. Apparently that meant that he was okay, but still he cleaned the fever’s sweat in his neck occasionally, and his face was still very pale.

‘What do you want to order, guys?’ a waitress asked them unexpectedly, playing with the pencil in her hand.

‘Ah, yeah, mm,’ Numbers babble looking at the menu again. ‘Well, I’m going to order toast with eggs and for my friend…’ Numbers glanced at Wrench for a moment, then back to the waitress, ‘bring him some lingonberry pancakes, please…’

The waitress frowned, confused, ‘lingonberry?’ she asked.

‘Yes, lingonberrys, it’s…it’s like crawberry’ Numbers clarified.

‘Okay,’ the waitress said, writing the order in her notebook, ‘and for drink?’

‘An orange juice and two coffees, please’ Numbers responded and glanced at Wrench who was looking at him with discrepant eyes. Numbers wanted to stab him. ‘No, nevermind about the second coffee,’ he said, ‘bring a glace of milk.’

Again, the waitress frowned, ‘A glace of milk?’ she asked again.

Numbers sighed, ‘yes, a glace of warm milk.’

The waitress blinked, ‘okay,’ she said, writing in the notebook.

‘ _Happy now?’_ Numbers sign when the girl disappeared.

Wrench nodded with his head, smiling at the view of the waitress face walking towards the kitchen.

‘ _Don’t lie to me’_ Numbers sign, almost tempted to laugh, ‘ _you ask those things every time we eat out just for see the look in other people’s faces._ ’

Wrench couldn’t avoid made that visceral laughter to which Numbers was already accustomed. ‘ _Yeah, maybe’_ he sign.

***

‘ _You need antibiotics’_ Wrench sing after a moment of contemplation. Numbers, with his shirt pulled up, was standing beside the bed, the bandage of the wound in his hand.

‘ _What? No, I don’t need them’_ he said releasing his shirt.

‘ _Yes, you need them,’_ Wrench responded. The wound, despite have been disinfected, was still red and with swelling. _‘This is not going to “heal itself” as you think’_ Wrench sigh, emphasizing the quotes with his fingers.

‘ _And where are we going to find antibiotics?_ ’ Numbers sigh sitting in the bed. It was more like a trick question. He was feeling tired, very, very tired. Maybe the fever was coming back, he through. The only thing he wanted now was to lie down and sleep. He let himself fall in the bed, putting his forearms above his eyes. But the sensation of feeling observed made him open his eyes again. He looked up at Wrench, who was standing there in front of the bed like waiting for an answer. Perhaps he have asked something while he was distracted. ‘ _Sorry, what?’_ he asked.

‘ _I asked you if you had received any message from Fargo_ ,’ Wrench repeated, sitting in the armchair.

Numbers sighed. ‘ _No, I asked in the reception and nothing._ ’ He seemed disappointed, they haven’t had a job since that one with the lawyer (and they have fucked up that one).

Then, after a quiet moment Wrench sign, ‘ _We should go to the hospital.’_ He was doubtful, like if he already knew that the proposition was going to cause a disaster.

Numbers removed his forearms from his eyes and he relied on his elbows on the bed. He took a brief moment to look at his friend and then he sign, ‘ _Are you crazy?’_

Numbers sat back down to look at him. ‘ _I…,_ we _cannot go to the hospital. We are hitmen, people hire us to kill other people,_ ’ he emphasized his words pretending to have a knife in his hand and stabbing the air. ‘ _How the fucks are we going to explain why I have a shot in my side?’_

 _‘We tell them that it was an assault,’_ Wrench responded.

‘ _And if it was assault why do we take so long in go to the hospital?_ ’ Numbers sign angry.

Wrench stayed silent. His partner was right. The idea of go to the hospital was just ridiculous. The doctors would call the police, they would be arrested and that would be their end. But then, what could they do with Numbers wound? What could _he_ do?

***

After he made Numbers go to bed to rest a bit, Wrench went back to the hall of the hotel for breath air. He had to think, clear his thoughts. He was about to go out to the street for a walk when he saw the receptionists woman, apparently trying to call his attention. His lips were moving very faster, the only thing Wrench catch was “excuse me, sir.” He walked towards the desk dubious, the woman smiled politely.

‘Your friend was the one that asked for a message, right?’ she asked.

Wrench stayed quiet for second and then he nodded.

The woman nodded too and she crouched down searching for something behind the desk. When she stood up, she gave him a leaf of paper and said ‘this arrived by fax an hour ago, it’s the message you were expecting?’

Surprised, Wrench took the message, unfolded it and he read it.

_“Finish with the bacon, if you don't cook the last one you may get BURNED._

_F.”_

Wrench blinked. The last word was in capital letters.

Obviously they were referring to their last job and the target that had not been removed. The lawyer in the news, he was still in the hospital. How they were supposed to finish the job with Numbers in that state? Maybe he would have to do it alone, he thought. But he hadn’t made a job without his partner in years…

Wrench wanted to punch the table.

He looked at the receptionist, who was staring at him with a strange expression. Right now the most polite think to do would be to say _“thank you,”_ so Wrench nodded trying to smile. ‘Do you need something more?,’ the woman asked. Apparently she didn’t think that the fact that Wrench hadn’t say a word to her was something strange.

Wrench stayed quiet again, looking at the fax machine behind the receptionist. Maybe he should send a message?

***

‘ _Why those guys still send fax? Who still uses fax?’_ Numbers asked leaving the message in the nightstand.

‘ _I don’t know_ ’ Wrench responded, uninterested, ‘ _maybe because it’s less easy to track.’_ He stood in front of the window, outside he could see how the sky was beginning to get darker. Numbers waited until his partner turned to face him again to sign, ‘ _what are we going to do?’_

Wrench shrugged.

‘ _Did you answer?’_

Wrench shook his head. He was lying. He had sent a message; it was still spinning around his head (“Impossible to continue with the transaction. Numbers in low levels”). It had been a good idea? Wrench was starting to regret had responded. Also, Numbers wouldn’t be happy if he discovered about the message. He may punch him in the face or worse.

The best now, he supposed, was to wait for Fargo’s answer.

***

Wrench wake up in some moment during the night. He didn’t knew why, he had just opened his eyes to meet the darkness in the room. He looked around him, Numbers was still sleeping, breathing heavily and sometimes snoring (Wrench couldn’t really hear him, but he could see his chest going up and down). He stood up of the armchair looking at the window, the only light source in the room. It was quiet. Outside the window was like that too, some cars in the street, just a few people. Calm. He sometimes wondered how the street sounded like, how the voice of the people was, or the sound of wind. Normally it didn’t bothered him, been unable to hear. It was just that sometimes was strange, there were silly things like when Numbers have a momentary lapsus and started to spoke to him without signs, or in moments of danger like the accident in the parking. It was just strange. Awkward.

But it has been more awkward in the past, when he worked alone, he thought suddenly.

Then Wrench turned around to see Numbers, still sleeping. But his chest was going up and down more faster now, he noticed, and he had opened his mouth to breathe better. Wrench frowned stepping towards the bed for make sure everything was alright. When he saw a sheep of sweet in Numbers face and neck the man put a hand in his friend’s forehead. Once again, it was burning in fever. He tightened his jaw. This wasn’t alright.

He looked for the glace of water on top of the little refrigerator in the corner and he poured some water of the bottle he had put beside the glace. He came back to the side of the bed and he took Numbers by his nape. Wrench suspected that he was at least half-awake, because when he put the glace of water on his lips the man drank it without hesitance.

The man stepped back, looking at his friend. He was calm now. Or at least that was what it seemed. Still, the sheep of sweet was still on Numbers skin, he might be feeling a lot of heat, Wrench thought, looking at Numbers’s feet trying to fight again the sheets.

Coming back to the refrigerator, Wrench took the bottle of water and he opened it. He let some water fall on his hand and he passed it in his friend’s face and neck, trying to refresh him a bit. Then he put again the sheets around his body. There.

All of sudden Wrench was feeling frustrated, very frustrated and he didn’t knew why. He had to calm down. The man turned around and walked to the bathroom to pee. After zip his trousers again, he washed his hands and for the first time in the night, he pay attention to the anxious feeling in his chest. It was a familiar sensation but somehow strange. He normally associated it with danger, with the excitement during a job or with a deep angriness. He associated it with fear too sometimes. He realized, suddenly, that the idea of Numbers dying because of that single wound was what was causing that tightness in his gut.

Maybe he was worrying to much.

Wrench came out of the bathroom wanting to go back to the armchair and fall sleep immediately. But then, a shadow in the corridor next the room called his attention. There was a person standing there. He frowned walking towards the door, ready to attack to any person who was spying on them. But the shadow disappeared after a piece of paper slide it through the slot in the door. Wrench’s frowned eyebrows got together even more. He took the paper and he unfolded it. After read it, he just wanted to destroy it.

‘ _Then finish yourself the bacon. Don’t make a lot of noise._

_F.’_

Wrench crumpled the sheet of paper just a little and he let it in the nightstand. This was just getting worse.


	4. Chapter 4

Wrench entered to the dark room with Numbers’ arm around his neck, helping him to walk. His partner legs were shaking, and he was still sweating in fever. Furthermore, they were both tired and the only thing they wanted to do now was sleep. So maybe the best thing now would have being to take a shower, eat something and go to bed; but seriously, neither of them were in the mood for that. So Wrench just turned on the light and let his partner lay down in the sofa. His eyes pained him, and he only wanted to shut them. He sat in the sofa beside his friend and let out a sigh. It was probably eleven o‘clock, judging by the darkness outside.

Numbers, trembling slightly, raised up his arms and sign _‘Let’s never do something like this again, ok?...’_

‘ _Never again_ ,’ Wrench responded closing his eyes. The lasts hours had been a nightmare.

***

When Numbers woke up the first thing he felt was an unbearable heat, his blankets were feeling heavy and his skin was damp because of the sweat. He made a grimace, wallowing in the bed while trying to escape from the sun behind the window. He turned around facing the ceiling, and he immediately felt the disgusting sensation of something swimming in his belly. He closed his eyes tightly and he opened them again. He had nauseas, and that wasn’t good.

He tried to get up for go to the bathroom, but the horrible sensation in his stomach stopped him. He didn’t wanted to throw up in the floor. Wrench didn’t seemed to be any ware near him. Numbers couldn't figure out where his partner could have been at 7 o’clock of the morning without him. He sigh, looking for the remote in the sheets of his bed. He turned on the TV trying to think in other thing that wasn’t his fever or his nauseas. This whole thing was starting to get out of control.

He put the news and he turned around again in the bed, lying in his stomach.

A while after that he heard the door opening and he didn’t have to look to know that it was his partner. Wrench walked quietly, almost without make a sound (Numbers didn’t knew if it was because he was deaf or just because he was Wrench).

‘ _Mourning,_ ’ Wrench sing entering to the room after close the door.

‘ _Where were you?’_ Numbers asked without respond to the greeting.

‘ _I went to buy the paper’_ Wrench responded.

Numbers frowned, rolling in the bed for look at Wrench properly.

‘ _Buy the paper? Why?’_ he asked confused. His arms were feeling weak and he didn’t wanted to keep talking in sings.

Wrench passed him the paper, he had marked one of the articles in the five page. Numbers read it and then looked at him with puzzled eyes.

‘ _We received a message from Fargo,’_ Wrench clarified.

The article was about his last hit. Apparently the lawyer how they had failed to kill it was still in hospital. The trial was going to be the next Tuesday.

‘ _We have to finish the job_ ,’ Wrench sign.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Numbers was getting up of the bed, trying to remove his covers. ‘ _I’m going with you’_ he sign sitting on the bed and looking for his shoes in the floor.

 _‘No, you’re not,’_ Wrench responded almost immediately.

Numbers, who was currently tying his shoes, went still for a second; then he looked back to his partner with his eyebrows frowned. _‘Why not?’_ he asked rising up his hands and shoulders with frustration. He was annoyed, he didn’t wanted to seem weak or pathetic because of his wound, he had had a lot of them in his life.

 _‘You can’t ’_ Wrench sign pointing at his partner. ‘ _You have to stay here and rest._ ’

 _‘I don’t want to rest!’_ Numbers respond pursing his lips, ‘ _I’ve been resting sense we came here!_ ’

 _‘Look at yourself,’_ Wrench respond irritated for Numbers attitude, _‘ you can’t go for the street shooting people like that, can you?’_

Numbers dropped his arms, maybe feeling defeated. He took off his shoes and threw them under the bed. The news were still on. The newscaster was talking about the weather, but not Numbers or Wrench were paying attention.

‘ _This is my job too_ ,’ Numbers added after a while, ‘ _my mistake too.’_

Wrench sigh, he knew to what Numbers was referring with that.

 ‘ _I know,_ ’ Wrench sign, ‘ _but right now you can’t do anything.’_

Numbers sigh too, he trough about his fever, his headache, the horrible sensation in his stomach, like if he was going to vomit in any second: Wrench was right.

 _‘You are right,’_ he sign, _‘I’m sorry.’_

None of them added anything for a while. It was, maybe, the first time Numbers had apologized with Wrench. It was weird.

***

When Wrench entered to the hospital, he did it in the most casual way he could. He sat in the waiting room, watching at the counter girl who was at the phone, waiting for her to distract so he could pass to the patients rooms. He stayed there for some minutes, when a guy stepped to the counter asking something about the paperwork. Then, Wrench took the opportunity and walk towards the hallway. Sun he found himself surrender by different medical offices and later, by the patients rooms. No one seemed to have notice him for the moment, all the doctors were busy, walking from one side to the other, checking patients, reading medical histories or having a short break with a hot coffee.

And then, Wrench found the room he was looking for. The door was mildly opened, and there was no nurse or doctor nearby. Wrench entered to the room to see the lawyer he had given up for dead the last week, he was sleep, down his torso through the hospital gown Wrench could see the bandage of his wound. The man had an IV connected in his right arm; it was probably morphine or some other drug for the pain. Quietly like he was, Wrench closed the door slowly. He knew how Numbers usually dialed with hits, in exciting, sometimes noisy ways that a few times had gotten them into troubles. Even so, when he was alone Wrench liked to take a moment to think in how to do it, what was the best way, and then execute the hit in a silent and subtle mode.

But this time Wrench was angry. He was feeling rage, that rage that allowed him to make this types of things, that rage that allowed him to have this type of _profession_. Maybe it was because of Numbers, or maybe because he had fail in complete the hit in the first time; whatever it was, he just let himself got carried away by the moment.

***

When Wrench returned to the hotel, the first thought that popped in his mind was that he and Numbers had to leave now, disappear as soon as possible. He had finished the job in a slightly dangerous way, entering to the hospital like that and be seen by the people there. He didn’t knew if someone could identify him even if he had been cautious. But he had done it quickly, and it was better like that. He needed to go home and make sure Numbers was going to be fine after all. He had to push downwards that tightness in his chest. He walk down the hallway, pressing the bottle of penicillin against his ribs. Numbers was going to be fine.

Wrench entered to the room, glancing at Numbers, who was still sleeping (or pretending to) and he started to pack.

***

While his partner was out, Numbers tried several times to stand up and go to the bathroom to take a shower. He couldn’t. The nauseas, the fever, the weakness in his legs didn’t allowed him to. He wanted to scream, he wanted to shake off this horrible sensation. His wound was starting to hurt; he could feel how it was pounding in his skin. He remembered them, the first time he had throw a man for a window, the first time he had left his apartment with a knife and the resolute decision of kill, the first time he had pullet a trigger to kill somebody. And suddenly he asked himself, after all that, was he going to die because of this?

***

They get out of the hotel room for the back stairs. They didn’t wanted to be seen. Wrench had left the room key in the table beside the bed, and he had let the door open. Now, he was helping Numbers to walk, the man’s legs were shaking, all his body was trembling spite of the shirt and the two sweaters that covered him. Later, in the parking, before his partner sat in the passenger’s seat, Wrench placed his cowboy jacket over his shoulders. Numbers pursed his mouth in something like a grin. After that Wrench took the wheel prepared for a very long and probably exhausting road.

He left the parking driving carefully, glancing at Numbers once in a while. Feeling observed, soon his partner opened his eyes. ‘ _Stop looking at me, is W-E-I-R-D,’_ he spelled. And Wrench smiled, looking at the road.

They traveled without problems for a couple of hours, the highway was empty and the sky was clear. Numbers turned on the radio and tried to rest facing the window. He wanted to sleep, his head was spinning and he hadn’t eaten sense last night because of the nausea. It was about two in the afternoon. Numbers closed his eyes, replacing the sight of the road in front of him for a deep darkness. When he woke up he look at the watch in the radio: it was for o’clock. He had sleep for two hours. He glanced at Wrench, who was still at the wheel, he was indeed a very good driver. Numbers knew that some people doubt that deaf people can drive, they obviously didn’t knew Wrench.

After a while his partner noticed that Numbers was awake. He pointed at the road, at a gas station in the right of the highway. They were going out of gas. Numbers nodded slightly and they parked the car there. Wrench got out of the car, walking to the door of the passenger’s seat and opening it.

 _‘Lay down in the back seat’_ he sign, pointing at the back of the car.

Numbers frowned and asked _‘why?’_ touching his head and putting his hand in a Y handshape.

‘ _Just do it,’_ Wrench sign.

Numbers sigh and slowly he stand up and went to the back seat. When he lay down there in his belly, Wrench pulled out the bottle of penicillin and one of the needles he had took from the hospital before leave. For a moment, Numbers looked alarmed.

‘ _Where did you get that?’_ he sign trying to turn around.

 _‘Hospital’_ Wrench responded. ‘ _Stay still.’_

The next thing Numbers knew was that Wrench was taking away his sweaters and his shirt, and putting a cold hand in his hip. Then he felt something chilly and wet. He realized it was alcohol from the bottle that he and Wrench kept in the glove compartment for emergencies. When Wrench ended with the needle he put it in a plastic back with the penicillin. Numbers stayed there, spread in the back seat, he could feel something stinging there in his hip. It was a strange sensation.

‘ _I’m going to buy something to eat,_ ’ Wrench sign, ‘ _you want something?’_

Numbers thought about it for a moment. He really didn’t wanted to eat, although his stomach was ringing.

 _‘No, thank you,’_ he sign. Wrench didn't seem pleased with that answer, but he didn't added anything. He took his jacket and he started to walk towards the store.

Then, Numbers stayed alone in the back seat, waiting for his partner de come back. He was still drowsy and close his eyes again and sleep was in fact a very tempting idea. But then, for no reason in particular, he noticed the radio’s car was still sounding. The music station he had put wasn’t playing anything interesting so he decided to look for another one. He was inclined towards the seat, changing the station when he heard it. At the beginning he didn’t quite understand it, but when he did, the voice of the radio host giving an especial announcement with the news of a dead lawyer and Wrench’s description, was something that he wasn’t quite expecting.

Numbers froze. He moved his head towards the store of the gas station. If this announcement was in the radio, it was certainly in the TV too, and maybe even one of those crappy draws was circulating over there with Wrench’s face. Right now, his partner was leaving the store with a couple of bags in his hands. Numbers thought in wait for him to step into the car and tell him what was going out, but suddenly, everything seemed to slow down, as by going in slow motion. Whoever it was the owner of the store, it seemed to be quite aware of the breaking news, because as soon as Wrench leave the store he went out with and old riffle and screamed to his partner to stop. But Wrench kept walking, oblivious of what was happening.

‘Shit,’ Numbers murmured, and forgetting about his fever, his nauseas and the horrible pain in his side, he launched over the glove compartment and took a gun from it. In fraction of seconds he was in the window, shouting to the old store owner, and watching Wrench terrified face looking at the body behind him. Then they exchanged glances, Numbers was slightly panting. They changed the gas and leaved the station as faster as they could.

***

When they arrived to the place it was already dark. Still, the city was very awake and noisy, but in the near area of the apartment, everything seemed to be quiet. Wrench parked the car and helped Numbers to walk towards the building. It was an old place, surely mostly habited by old women or bankrupt men. When they entered to the elevator Numbers didn’t bother for look at his disastrous appearance in the mirror. Instead, he leaned his back against the wall and closed his eyes. Soon, he opened them again and looked at Wrench. ‘ _What is this place?’_ he asked sloppy. Wrench, as tired as him, responded, ‘ _I live in the third floor_.’ Numbers didn’t answered, but he thought that maybe this was indeed a very good place for a man like Wrench, a man who doesn't spend too much time at home, a man who doesn't want to pay for a very expensive place or call the attention too much.

The elevators doors opened and they stepped into the third floor. ‘ _Be quiet,’_ Wrench sign. ‘ _The old woman who lives in front of me screams a lot when she hears noise.’_ The man pointed at the apartment in the right of the hallway with a grin in his face. Numbers almost smiled. ‘ _She must be very glad to have you as a neighbor.’_

Wrench and smiled and searched for his key in the pocket of his jacket and opened the door. Helping Numbers to walk, they entered to the dark room and let themselves fall in the sofa cushions. They were exhausted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there, I have to be brief because I have to take the bus to school : P
> 
> So, one of the readers told me that it was better to change the title of the fanfinc, so I wanted to know if anyone else was a uncomfortable with it. If is like that let me know for change it. Like I said, english is not my first language and I live in a country where this words are quite normal :P So, just let me know, plz.
> 
> I know I post this very slowly, sorry by that.


	5. Chapter 5

Numbers opened his eyes, meeting once again the deep darkness of the living room. The sky outside was black, overcast by a navy blue that covered the stars. Apparently he had fell asleep at some point, but he couldn't say it for sure. It was difficult to separate the lucid dreaming from the sleep. He tried to sit up in the sofa, forgetting for a moment about his wound and regretting it when he felt a painful pressure in his side. He groaned. The nauseas, significantly decreased, were still swimming in his stomach, his constant migraine had become just a simple headache, and still he wasn’t very sure of been all right. He could feel Wrench seated at his side, probably sleep; he was breathing slowly and calmly. Numbers rubbed his eyes looking at his friend, who, like feeling observed, woke up almost immediately. When his eyes meted Numbers’ he felt surveyed for a second, Wrench looked at him from head to toes, like wanting to check if he was fine. He was better, at least; he wasn’t so pale now, although he was still covered in cold sweat and his hands and feet still trembled.

After a second, Wrench stood up, stretching his sore muscles because of the long time seated uncomfortable.

‘ _Come on,’_ he sign, pointing at the hallway that leaded to the bedroom ‘ _you need a shower.’_

Numbers furrowed his eyebrows, this time sighing like a little boy and falling in the cushions again, _‘I’ll take it tomorrow, let me sleep,_ ’ he sign clumsily because of the tiredness.

‘ _Stand up,_ ’ Wrench insisted, ‘ _I have to change your bandage.’_

Numbers growled, closing his eyes. Wrench was right; they couldn’t stay here all night,it had been almost six hours since he had injected Number’s the antibiotics and he have to do it again if he wanted his friend to fully recover. Numbers had to get up. Wrench didn’t really _have_ to change his bandage, it wasn’t his obligation. Any other partner would have leave him behind, or with enough luck, in a hospital in where he would had find his path to jail sooner or later. But no, now Wrench was slipping his arm under Numbers’ armpits, lifting him and starting to walk.

Then, heading towards the hallway, Numbers took a view of the place where he was. The apartment was almost completely empty. The leaving room just had the sofa, an old TV with his DVD under it, and a table with some chairs. He doubted that there was any phone in the place – not that Wrench would need one. There wasn’t pictures in the walls, not old photographs either (which was understandable given their type of job – no one wanted to talk about old times, with normal lives and no gunshots in the sight. They were boring or they were painful enough to try to forget them). Someone who entered there would probably had thought that no one lived in the apartment, but then maybe, they could had noticed small things, movies watered for the entire place, used notebooks near of the counter, books here and there; little signals saying that there was a person wandering in the place occasionally.

The bathroom was at the end of the hallway, besides it there was another room; Numbers assumed it was Wrench’s. They entered silently. Wrench turned on the light making them both close their eyes at the strong brightness. The inside of the bathroom was small; it had an old shower with a bathtub, besides it there was a closed window, a mirror and the sink. Wrench released Numbers, going towards the bathtub for open the water.

 _‘Thanks’’_ Numbers sign awkwardly after his partners stepped aside the shower. Right now, the only thing he wanted to do was to clean his skin from the sweat, and go back to sleep feeling fresh.

‘ _I’m going to sleep in the couch,’_ Wrench sign walking to the door, ‘ _you can take the bed.’_

At that, Numbers didn’t think about it twice before respond ‘ _Don’t be stupid,’_ he sign, _‘this is your apartment.’_

‘ _It doesn’t matter’_ Wrench insisted, making Numbers growl angry. He wasn’t feeling comfortable with this whole situation; he didn't like to feel like a little boy who needed to be taken care of. It made him feel small, incapable. And still, he knew his legs where shaking, he knew he was trying to stop them uselessly; he knew he was stood there, leaned against the sink’s bathroom, feeling sick. He glanced at the shower: he would had to stood there and take a bath (possibly) with cold water, feeling his body shaking, his guts revolted and his eyes heavy, pushing towards his brain. It was almost an unbearable idea.

 ‘ _Do you need help?’_ Wrench sign unexpectedly, calling Numbers attention. Confused, he looked at his friend besides the door and frowned. What?

***

Numbers didn’t hesitate as much as he could when Wrench asked the question; he didn’t said yes at any moment, but he didn’t say no either. Wrench opened the two bathtub’s faucets for have more water, putting his jacket aside and rolling up his sleeves. Then, while Numbers tried to took of his second sweater, Wrench stood in front of him, helping him to get rid of his shirt. Without it, Numbers suddenly realized about how little he had eaten for the last week. He didn't remember to had eaten anything today besides that half sandwich that Wrench had obligated him to lunch. Right now his stomach looked thin, skinny. He unzipped his pants, leaving them in the floor; like that without clothes, he could felt the cold air touching his skin directly. He was just about to take off his socks, when Wrench knelt in the bathroom tiles and did it for him. Immediately Numbers stepped backwards, uncomfortable and slightly signing something like _man, thanks but I can take off my underwear all by myself._ He meant it as joke, but he couldn't avoid seeming awkward while doing it.

They didn’t waited for the tub to fill completely, it would have taken to much time and they were tired. Numbers body hair bristled at the sensation of the water in his back. He was sore too because of the long travel and his muscles were feeling heavy. Seated in the bathtub, he contracted himself slightly when Wrench moved the shower head to his shoulders and neck. It was cold. His eyes pained him, he wanted to close them but instead he kept holding the soap and rubbing it against his skin. And then, when he was starting to get accustomed to the temperature, the water stopped to fall in his body. He turned his head to Wrench, who was watching him silently.

‘ _How does it feel?’_ he asked after a brief moment.

‘ _What?’_ Numbers respond, almost without facial expression.

‘ _Been shot,_ ’ Wrench clarified.

Numbers sighed, looking at the door. ‘ _I don’t know, painful?’_ he sign, _‘have you ever being shot?’_

Wrench moved his jaw at one side, doubting. _‘Once,_ ’ he sign, _‘in a foot.’_

Numbers didn’t knew if he should find that humorous or not. He smiled dimly anyway. ‘ _And it was painful, wasn’t it?’_ he sign. ‘ _I don’t have to tell you that.’_

Wrench returned the smile, nodding. Numbers knew he wasn’t referring to the physical pain, he knew Wrench was referring to what does it feel like being near to death, face it, have it in front of you. But he honestly didn’t knew how to respond that; after getting shot he just remembered to feel scared, he needed to get into the car, run away from the police, make Wrench drive instead of look at him horrified. He didn’t wanted to think deeply into that right now. He didn’t wanted to think. Wrench’s right hand had taken the soap from his hands and he was beginning to rub it against his back. For some reason Numbers found it reassuring, he took the shower head and started to clean the soaping parts of his body.

Fatigue had begun to beat them both. Wrench’s movements were slow and his marrowbones were starting to feel numb against the bathroom floor. Once again he took the shower head, holding it above Numbers’ back and cleaning what was left of soap.

 _‘There’_ he sign, standing up and closing the water, _‘I’ll be right back.’_ He took his jacket from the floor, leaving it hung in the top of the door. He disappeared for a moment in the darkness outside the bathroom, and when he came back he handed to Numbers some clothes he could use. The man, doubting, took them. He was going to put on his underwear and his t-shirt again, but a clean change of clothes seemed a lot better than that.

‘ _Why does this smells to n-a-f-t-a-l-i-n-a?’_ Numbers spelled while putting the shirt, and walking to Wrench’s room.

 _‘Because it has been in my closet for months,’_ Wrench responded following him. He had in his left hand the bottle of penicillin he used in the afternoon; in his other hand he had a bag with cotton and injectors.

***

Wrench finished with the bandage very quickly. He told Numbers the wound was in fact healing, maybe in a week he would be completely fine. Numbers realized it was a great relief to know that. He was lying upside down in Wrench’s bed (it was small, with grey sheets), waiting not to excited the sting of the injection. It had to be done in a big muscle, like in the hip or the buttocks (and he was really sure Wrench had seen enough from him for a night, so he was going for the hip). Numbers buried his head in the pillow, angry but not wanting to seem so. He was feeling defeated, he could not find any other word to explain it. Defeated for let himself fail like this in his job, defeated for have gunshot in his side that kept him from walk like a normal person, defeated for feel so weak, tired, needy. _Defeated._ He could have sign it, he just have to made a two with his right hand and tap the palm of his left. He could have tried to explain it to the deaf man beside him that was taking care of him like if it was his responsibility. But he didn’t wanted to do it, just the thought of it was overwhelming.

When Wrench finished, Numbers turned on his side to see him.

‘ _It’s done,’_ he sign, and Numbers could see the little black bags forming below his eyes. He wondered what hour it was, glancing at the closed window and the dark sky. It was probably near tree o’clock. _‘I’m going to sleep on the sofa,’_ his partner sign with tiredness and starting to stood up from the bed.

Numbers stopped him rolling his eyes, he sign ‘ _Don’t.’_ quite strongly and he regretted it immediately.He stretched in the bed, thinking it for a moment before sign, ‘ _We have shared beds before_.’

‘ _Once_ ,’ Wrench corrected him with emphasis, ‘ _and that was a very strange night.’_

If Numbers’ hadn’t been that tired he could have laugh. That night had been strange indeed. He and Wrench lying in a matrimonial bed, high and laughing like teenagers was something he would find difficult to forget. But right now it wasn’t the point.

‘ _C’mon,’_ Numbers insisted, he really didn’t want to play to the tough, masculine guy tonight. He really didn’t mind to share the bed, it didn’t mattered how small it was.

Wrench contemplated the idea briefly. He sigh and he started to get riff of his _jeans_ after turning off the light. Numbers moved aside and he climbed to the bed taking the left side and getting under the sheets. It was, after a lot of months away from his apartment, relaxing to be able to sleep in his own bed (even if he was sharing it). Then, feeling surrounded by the darkness of the room, Wrench glanced at Numbers for a moment; his eyes were closed, his face looked calm. But he wasn’t sleep. Wrench was sure. He rolled in his side trying to feel more comfortable, and he was just about close his eyes when he felt someone pocking him in the shoulder. Frowning, he looked at Numbers again, who was staring at him in the dark. He didn’t made any sign. Wrench was starting thing he wouldn’t when Numbers pulled up his arms and sign uncertain, ‘ _can I ask you something?’_

 _‘If the answer is short,’_ Wrench responded. It was difficult to sign while lying in bed in the dark. Just a slight moonlight was illuminating the room from the window, probably in a couple of hours the sun would start to come up. Numbers doubted for a moment, and then raised again his hands to ask ‘ _how it is to be deaf?’_

That wasn’t simple question at all.

Wrench stayed dubious for a moment, not knowing what he could respond to that without having to stay awake all night. Finally, he just sign, ‘ _…it’s strange sometimes…’_ very slowly.

Numbers frowned. Obviously that wasn’t the response he was looking for. This time was Wrench the one that rolled his eyes.

 _‘I can’t explain it,’_ he sign, _‘it’s difficult to connect with hearing people’_ (you are one exception, he thought in add, but maybe it would had been a bad idea) ‘ _but I have always been deaf, normally is not an issue.’_

Numbers stayed quiet for a moment. It seemed a good answer. He bit his lips, thinking in go to sleep when Wrench sign something that at the beginning he didn’t quite understand.

 _‘It was my fault’_ he sign.

‘ _What?’_ Numbers asked confused.

_‘You been shot.’_

Numbers stayed quiet, astonished, and when he managed to sign something he did it clumsily, a bit to fast, ‘ _Wait, why? Why do you think that?’_.

Wrench didn’t respond, not at the beginning. He crossed his arms and looked to the ceiling, like trying to find the words. Finally he looked at Numbers and slowly he sign, ‘ _I’m deaf.’_

Numbers couldn’t avoid frowning even more than before.

‘ _I’m informed,’_ he sign.

Again, Wrench rolled his eyes.

 _‘I couldn’t hear the guy approaching you,’_ he sign, angry, ‘ _he was right behind me_.’

Numbers didn’t came up with any good answer. They all seemed to build and destroy again in his head. He remember what had happened in the parking; the two of them believed the four guys were dead, the two of them stood there, overconfident; the two of them failed to notice the guy taking his gun, approaching them in silence. _The two of them_. At the end he just looked at his friend seriously, like when he was talking with his bosses at Fargo or with someone he considered important. Then he sign, ‘ _don’t be stupid, it wasn’t your fault at all’_ and he made a pause, ‘ _really, it wasn’t.’_ And he wanted to believe that that was enough to convince Wrench.

They stayed quiet for some seconds, thinking in that maybe the other one had something else to say. None of them had it. Numbers put an arm above his pillow, resting upside down again and closing his eyes. They both sleep until next day, very late in the morning.


	6. Epilogue

Numbers was awake; he had been so for some minutes ago, but he was sleepy still, wandering in the short line between dream and reality. The room was silent, peaceful. In the nightstand Numbers could see the bandages and the little bottle of antibiotics that Wrench had used to clean his wound. He could see too the white walls around him, empty, like waiting to be filled with photographs and paintings, like the ones Numbers had in his house as a child. He didn’t knew why he remembered that half sleep/half awake, lying in his partner’s bed after weeks of troubles and fear. Maybe it was in fact for how weird thing’s had become lately. He remembered fuzzily his last night talk with Wrench. He didn´t knew either why he was feeling that that particular talk had been so important. He didn’t knew a lot of things. Because that Wrench had felt guilty because of the shooting didn’t made any sense to him either. Those things happened in their job. Very often. Partners die. Partners die all the time.

Numbers didn’t wanted to imagine Wrench dying.

He pushed away the thought closing his eyes again, he wanted to keep sleeping. He could feel on top of his legs Wrench’s knee. He didn’t quite mind. Not too much. He settled himself in the sheets, falling asleep at the sensation of Wrench’s breath against the skin of his arm.

When Numbers woke up again the room was dark and he was alone in the bed. He frowned, confused. Someone had lowered the curtains of the window, making the room look obscured. He stood up, feeling considerable better compared of how he had been the last two weeks. Still he was tired, even after several hours of sleep. After wash his face in the bathroom, he silently went to the living room to find Wrench seated in the couch. He seemed absorbed, thinking about something important while looking towards the window. He hadn’t noticed Numbers yet. When he did, he glanced at him slowly.

‘ _Mourning,’_ Numbers said, walking towards the couch to sit besides his partner.

‘ _Mourning_ ’ Wrench responded.

They didn’t knew what else to say.

They didn’t made coffee or breakfast.

They didn’t turn on the news like usual; Wrench wouldn’t have watched it even with captions. If they were talking about their job, about the lawyer found dead in his hospital room, they didn’t wanted to know. Instead they stayed there, in silence.

‘ _What now?’_ Wrench asked after a while.

Numbers shrugged.

‘ _I don’t know’_ he responded. ‘ _We wait, I suppose._ ’

‘ _Wait for what?’_ Wrench asked.

‘ _Don’t know’_ Numbers repeated, ‘ _Fargo, the police maybe…’_

Wrench laughed at that.

‘ _The police won’t catch us,’_ he sign very confident. Numbers raised an eyebrow, slightly amused.

‘ _Why not?’_ he asked.

 _‘They won’t,’_ Wrench responded with the same confidence.

They both fell silent again. It was cold in the room, the sky was still a bit grey.

Numbers patted his side, feeling the bandage across his shirt. He would probably have a scar there for the rest of his life. It wasn’t that bad, he thought. A simple reminder, a mark that would tell him time to time _you were so close._ But just close.

Then he glanced at Wrench. His face was inexpressive. He thought about say thank you, or maybe apologize – he didn’t knew why he have to, but something was telling him he should. He did neither of them. He didn’t knew how.

Instead Numbers rested his head against the couch, relaxing a bit. His stomach was empty, and a familiar sensation in his mind told him that a cigarette wouldn’t be bad right now. He suddenly realized that since the nauseas had begun he hadn’t lit a single cigarette, and he was even more shocked when he thought that that was the longest time he had spend without smoking since he had started. He thought, just for a moment that that would be a good first step to quit it. Then he saw a little red box in the table of the living room, and the thought disappeared as soon as it appeared in his mind. He looked at Wrench, slightly confused.

‘ _I went to the store this mourning_ ’ Wrench explained, _‘I also buy bread and milk for the coffee_.’

In the table there was in fact, a bag with bread besides a carton of milk. Numbers hesitate before say ‘ _I thought you hated me smoking.’_

Wrench rolled his eyes.

‘ _I was hoping you would quit after all these,’_ he sign, maybe a bit disappointed.

‘ _And you still buy it,_ ’ Numbers said, raising his eyebrows like if it was a question.

‘ _Yes, I did_ ,’ Wrench responded, slightly defeated.

Not as fast as he would like to Numbers stood up from the chair, walking across the room towards the table to take the cigarette box. ‘ _Where are the matchsticks?_ ’ he asked smiling, showing all his white teeth just to piss off Wrench.

***

Numbers straightened the collar of his coat, breathing in heavily. He took his gun and phone from the counter to put them in his pocket, before turn around to pick his briefcase. He didn’t had troubles while leaning; the pain in his wound had slowly become in a little discomfort marked by a recent scar. Besides Numbers, Wrench was putting on his cowboy jacket, taking the keys from the apartment he would probably leave again for a couple of months. When Numbers opened the door, he glanced at the inside of Wrench’s apartment, to the cheap furniture and the empty walls; the next time he would take care of put as many frames as he could there.

‘ _Where are we going?,’_ Wrench asked, repeating twice the sign _go_ and furrowing his eyebrows.

‘ _Somewhere in A-L-A-B-A-M-A,’_ Numbers responded, looking uninterested.

 _‘You drive then,’_ Wrench said, smiling just a bit.

Numbers made a face, but not quite being in the position of complain, he nod, ‘ _I suppose I owe you that.’_

Wrench laughed, crossing the door and closing it behind him. They leaved the place using the stairs and they get into the car, maybe soon they would stood in some place for eat lunch, and maybe Numbers would smoke and Wrench would get mad at him for it. But for now, it was time to go back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end, I really hope you have enjoyed it :)
> 
> Again, I apologize for any mistake you could have find so far. I hope I hadn't comitted to many. I changed the name of the fanfinc. Maybe a bit late for that but I did it anyway xD.
> 
> I feel happy to have finished this, not just I really like Numbers and Wrench, and I would have enjoyed to see more of them in Fargo, but because it's my first fanfinc in english and in this page so thank's for having read it to the end.


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